


Rond et rond

by feralphoenix



Category: Yggdra Union
Genre: Consent Issues, Forced Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know those days where you really wish that life had a rewind button? That moment was like that, only worse. Because, you know, Nessiah would happily rather have died than let Gulcasa see him like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rond et rond

_So Emilia’s at it again,_ Gulcasa thought with a heavy sigh as he heard the shrieks and wild laughter from the direction of his little sister’s chambers.

Her victims always accused him of turning too much of a blind eye towards her little rampages. Gulcasa didn’t think so—it was _his_ opinion that those victims didn’t take into account that Emilia was still getting used to the privileges of being a princess. Which included the _wardrobe_ of one. All his sisters had been shocked at the finery left over in Castle Bronquia from the generations of Imperial families past. Gulcasa didn’t care for it, and tried to avoid the fine courtier’s clothes hung in his rooms—dressing as he always had suited him just fine. Luciana and Aegina indulged in those fine gowns of silk and brocade every now and again, and were satisfied with that. Emilia…

Well, she was a fourteen-year-old girl, and hadn’t ever really gotten over the lack of clothes to play dress-up in when she was little. There were enough fine clothes here for her to deck herself out in goth-loli for the next six years without repeating an outfit once, and Gulcasa thought she was welcome to it. They all needed to indulge in what ways they preferred, and make up for the squalor of their early years.

It was just when Emilia turned her enthusiasm towards _others_ that things got out of hand.

 _Maybe I’d better get down there._ Shaking his head, Gulcasa headed for the commotion.

The shrieks and giggles got clearer as he did; as usual, Emilia was laughing and suggesting articles of clothing and there were furious and flustered protests from a male voice.

Both were coming from behind the closed door to Emilia’s bedroom. Russell and Leon were standing outside it, and it looked like Emilia had already had her way with them. Russell was in something tight and leather that might be considered a short dress without the breeches he had on beneath it; his hair was up in pigtails and he’d turned to rest his forehead on the wall, apparently out of mortification. There was a green checked bow perched atop Leon’s head, and he stood red-faced, fuming, and daring anyone to say anything about the very frilly matching dress he’d been shoved into.

Gulcasa looked at them, then pointedly looked away. “Change back,” he said emphatically. He didn’t know whether he should laugh or rub his eyes; he doubted the latter would help, as the image felt burned into them.

“Can’t,” Russell said flatly. “She’s still got our normal clothes in there, and we’re _not_ leaving here without them.”

Leon grunted. Gulcasa assumed he was assenting.

The voices from inside Emilia’s bedroom were getting louder.

_“I will NOT—”_

“Oh, c’mon! You’re almost done, it looks so cute on you!! Just—put—these—”

“I told you, _no—”_

Just as Gulcasa had come to the decision that he’d better rescue his sister’s latest victim before things got completely out of hand, the door burst open and Nessiah strode out in angry steps and an irate jangle of chains. Emilia chased behind him, holding up a pair of tiny, strappy black pumps with thin two-inch heels.

“C’mon, put ‘em _on_ already!” Emilia was calling.

“I will absolutely _not_ put—” Nessiah whirled around, saw Gulcasa, and stopped dead.

Emilia had somehow gotten him out of his heavy robes and into something that looked like—like a cross between a sexed-up girl’s skivvies, the getup of some prostitute who’d play the dominatrix for a little extra, and a full-length leather dress shredded by a mad animal. It looked like it should be _illegal—_ and yet on Nessiah, it looked… damn fine.

Up top, he wore a little black collar and a piece of black-violet leather around his ribs that gaped in the front, held together by a tight cord and a belt—something like a vest or corset. Trailing out below it and above it were shreds of cotton; the tops of sleeves hung on Nessiah’s upper arms rather than his shoulders. Over tiny little shorts that seemed to barely cover the essentials, two thin belts held the tattered remains of a full-length skirt—along the side of his right leg, all the fabric below those belts had been ripped away; the rest of the front was sheared off at miniskirt length. The back of the skirt fell down to Nessiah’s ankles in places; the hem was in tatters all the way around. Both skirt and shorts were made the same kind of leather as the corset. As if that wasn’t enough, little black garter straps flipped out from under that skirt, hooked to thick bands of black lace that circled high on Nessiah’s thighs. These were the tops of thickly webbed fishnets, torn in wide circles over the right knee and left calf.

The ensemble flaunted more skin than Gulcasa had _ever_ seen Nessiah voluntarily show, drew the eye to his thin little waist and the curves the leather skirt and shorts draped over, and left virtually nothing to the imagination.

Gulcasa raised his eyebrows and stared. And stared.

Until at last Nessiah gave a little squeak that made Gulcasa notice that his usually pale cheeks were _bright scarlet,_ and he realized that maybe staring hadn’t been the best idea. Nessiah’s small hands went to fists, and he shoved past Gulcasa, flinging himself down the hall in another series of furious jangles.

“Aww… he didn’t put the shoes on,” Emilia pouted.

Gulcasa pointed in the direction Nessiah had fled. “Don’t you think that was a little…?”

“It was _not_ ‘a little’, it was _perfect._ And don’t you try and pretend like you didn’t think so too! It looked great on him, so _there.”_

Sighing—he couldn’t really argue—Gulcasa held out a hand. “Just give me his clothes, will you? I’d better fix this now before he blasts us all with something really nasty.”

-               -               - 

It took Gulcasa the better part of half an hour to find Nessiah curled into a ball in his room’s broad windowsill, his face tucked into his knees and his arms locked around his legs. He obviously hadn’t been able to change out of Emilia’s provocative outfit—and though his pose mostly shielded the bare skin of his belly, it made his legs look a mile long.

Shifting uncomfortably, Gulcasa held out the folded robes he’d been carrying tucked under his arm. “Here,” he said. “You can change out of that now if you want.”

Nessiah flinched, then lurched up and swiped his clothes out of Gulcasa’s grip, holding them against his chest in what looked like an attempt to cover up.

“Turn _around,”_ he said venomously. He was blushing again.

Gulcasa did.

“I’m, ah—I’m sorry about Emilia. You know how she gets.”

There was only the rustle of fabric and the click and clink of metal behind him, and a few frustrated sounds from Nessiah. Gulcasa tried not to picture him struggling out of the tight, tight leather and failed.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with that?”

 _“Yes,_ I’m bloody—well—sure!” The words were strained, but Nessiah sounded murderous, so Gulcasa didn’t turn around.

More sounds of struggle, and then the unmistakable thud of shed clothes hitting the floor. Nessiah heaved a relieved-sounding sigh, and then there were more shifts of fabric and metallic clinks. Gulcasa fidgeted and tried to stick a blindfold over his mind’s eye. It didn’t work.

“So when do we get to ogle _you_ in drag?” Nessiah demanded irritably.

Gulcasa smirked. “Emilia tried once. Apparently, that kind of thing looks awful on me; when she’s forced to turn to me for her dress-up solutions, she just raids my normal closet.” He shrugged. “Believe it or not, that _could_ have been worse.”

“It couldn’t.”

“You could have come out looking like Leon.”

“I would _rather_ have.”

“You’d prefer looking stupid to looking sexy?” Gulcasa asked blankly, then closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and asked himself why he had to be such a damned idiot.

“I _knew_ it.” The words were a hiss.

Gulcasa just shook his head. “Okay, so I _do_ think it looked good on you. I wasn’t going to mention it, considering you seem to hate the look.”

Nessiah groaned behind him, and there was a thick jangle of chains, like he’d slumped to the ground. “Please tell me where the nearest high cliff is. I’d like to throw myself off it.”

Gulcasa turned—luckily enough, Nessiah was dressed—and sat down next to him. “You don’t have to be all theatrical about it,” he pointed out.

Nessiah hit him.


End file.
